no title
by Chylde Orchid
Summary: Cyberpunk Fiction, based on the R. Talsorian RPG
1. Aftermath

**(Chapter 1, more to come)**

There had been a massacre here. Not like the occasional killings out in the Combat zone that we had all come to ignore, this was huge. I couldn't help but think that it was meant to send a message to someone. The stink of blood and hydraulic fluid mixing together radiated throughout the crumbling remains of what used to be known Provo, Utah, but is now only referred to as the 'Zone outside SLC. I pitied the poor bastards that had the unlucky task of littering the street tonight, and I pitied myself even more for finding them.

It had been a slow night for a 'Zone patrol up until I found this mess. Hell, I had even given thought to getting out of the precinct early and hitting a bar on the way home. So much for that idea, I was going to be at my desk typing up a report until the morning crew showed up, and that wouldn't come until after I finished with the fieldwork. First thing's first, try to establish gang relation, if any. A few of the bodies, if you could still call them that, had gang markings, but none of them were from the same gang.

That ruled out gang warfare, now to try and establish weapons used. There were a few casings rolling around in the pools of blood, but I was sure they would match up with the old gun we found with part of a hand still wrapped around it or be cold, old, and from the years of past this place had accumulated. None of the bodies had bullet wounds, though. If I had to guess, I'd have thought they were all hit by a truck, but there were no tire marks, and the dust on the street showed no evidence of being blown around by a hover. My mind wandered to the vid my brother sent me from Detroit of the pneumatic hammers they used in the steel-working factories. I asked myself what a body would look like if it got hit by one of those, and shuddered at the mental image that followed. I opened my eyes and looked at the torso that was left of some girl. I'd have almost been better off with the mental picture.

I turned away from the scene for a moment, to prevent my lunch revisiting me, and then walked over to the only other semi intact body. This guy was big… about 6'7, 350 lbs, and cybered for combat. Both his arms had been broken, and his ribcage was caved in around his spine. Nothing out of the ordinary, any punk with a good cybernetic arm could do that. Then I took a closer look at the left arm. It had all the look of a natural, human arm: Skin, blood, and even a few tattoos. Until you got a quarter inch in, that is. I could see the glimmer of titanium, and could smell that the hydraulic fluid was a little stronger in this area. This guy had one of the best cyberarms in the market and somebody still managed to crush it like it was made out of balsawood. Again I thought back to the pneumatic hammer.

On to body number three: A biker who had hardwired himself into his machine. Apparently even combining yourself with a crotch rocket didn't make you fast enough to stay alive. At least that's what it looked like at first. When I started actually looking I noticed there were no welds or fusion points between the biker's organics and the bike parts. I took a step back to ponder this and then I figured it out. This time the vomit came into my mouth before I forced it back into my stomach. Before tonight, this human/Motorcycle Centaur had been a person and a bike, separately. That explained the head in a helmet whose bike had gone missing we found. And why Bike Man was wearing a tie.

I made a few notes in my datacom, and decided I was done here. I tapped on the metal disc that they'd replaced my right ear with and a microphone slid down from it to my mouth. "This is Officer Deschain. I've got what I need, send the cleaning crew".

I tapped my ear again and the mic slid back into its container as I opened the door to my car. I slid into the driver's seat of the old Ford Falcon. Everybody on the Squad kept telling me to Sell the thing and let the city buy me a new hover like they'd done for everyone else, but I had grown attached to it. That and the fact that it could take every last one of them off the line made me hang onto it. The Engine roared to life as I smartchipped into the dash, and with a grunt from the car and a shrug from me I slipped into first and went roaring across the wastelands. I needed some quality time with the road to think.


	2. Encounter

The streets were barren, not that I cared. It just meant more road to accelerate on, and God knows both the bike and I needed a little acceleration. This whole city could use some acceleration. I hadn't experienced a downer this long since I can't remember. Three weeks without so much as a brawl, and my adrenal gland was starting to feel neglected. I had come out into the 'Zone hoping to find a little action. Some duelling gangs, a band of criminals hiding out with a bounty on their collective heads, hell, I'd have even settled for a couple Corpies who'd gotten lost on their way home from work. Anything so long as it got my blood pumping and maybe made me a little money.

Like I said though, the streets were barren. Not even the usual homeless junkies you always saw digging through the rubble for food or shelter or even a few creds. It was almost creepy seeing such a vast a lack of populous in a place like this. Made the wastelands really sink in. I let my mind wander as it played with the scenery for a few minutes, and regretted it almost immediately as a forearm the size of my torso knocked me onto my back. The bike shut off when my smartchip connection jerked out and skidded into a nearby pile of decaying bricks. It could Stay there until I dealt with more pressing matters.

I kicked up to my feet after rolling on the ground for a few yards and looked around. I could feel my senses heightening for the thrill of the fight. My ears picked up on movement behind me, and I ducked just in time to avoid taking a light pole to the small of the back. I pivoted on the ball of my right foot, snapping the twin 10 mm Federated Arms handguns from their resting places at my sides. I started firing before I had fully taken in my opponent's appearance: nine foot eight, shoulders six foot across, and hardly recognizable as human. He made a scream of anger mixed with trace amounts of pain as the rounds tore into him, and I rolled away, looking for cover as the clips emptied.

As I reloaded behind a totalled van I thought to myself "There was only one way any man got that big." He was a full 'borg. and I didn't have anything near powerful enough with me tonight to take him out. I only had one choice: get to the bike and run like hell, then come back with enough firepower to make Morgan Blackhand himself take a step back in awe. No one ever gets the jump on Sebastian Leadstorm without regretting the experience.

The broken down van I was crouched behind suddenly took to the sky, leaving me without a hiding place and my opponent with a new blunt object. I dove in the direction of my bike blindly, hoping to anyone worth hoping to that it was still in running condition. Almost immediately, my behemothian adversary stepped to block my path once more, the van over his head and his legs spread for a powerful slam. I dove for the gap between his ankles, firing a shot into each kneecap as I passed under him, and rolled to my bike. It roared to life as soon as my hands were on the grips, and I was one. No time to look back and see if he was following me, not that it mattered. There wasn't a 'borg on the planet who could catch me once I opened up the throttle.


	3. Origin

"Sir, we have a complication" He stammered, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the next. If he had to bring this 'complication' to my attention it was more likely a catastrophe. And if that was the case I was going to either fire him on the spot or assign him to some job that would surely give him the pleasure of dying in the service of the corporation.

"Continue" I said, rolling the fingers of my right hand in an impatient gesture. There was work to be done, contracts to be finalized and paperwork to be covered up, and here this low-level peon was wasting my time with his mistakes.

"It's about the Behemoth Project." I glanced up at him over the monitor on my desk. "I don't want to hear about Dr. Moore's failures anymore. Tell him he has until the end of the week to clear out his personal artefacts from the lab. We grow tired of funding his failed experiments. If there is nothing else I suggest you find something more productive to do with your time than waste mine."

At this he looked up from the floor at me for the first time, met my gaze and responded: "Well, Mr. Largos, when we went to check on Dr. Moore's progress this morning, we found the lab demolished and the doctor and his staff in pieces."

"I want to know who did this and I want to know now! No one has ever gotten away with stealing my department's research, and I intend to keep it that way! How many of the genetic supplements have we recovered from the wreckage?"

"All of them, Mr. Largos. The only thing missing is one test subject." _What kind of saboteur doesn't take back a sample to his employer from the target lab?_ I thought to myself, then shortly reminded myself that it didn't matter. "I want you to bring me the heads of those responsible for this." The shell of a man standing before me cowered a bit despite himself. "And I want to make it painstakingly clear to you that if I don't have them, I'll be taking yours in exchange" I would not have the name Alex Largos tarnished.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Deschain

I found myself in a truck stop about Seventy miles outside my jurisdiction by the time I felt I was level-headed enough to file my report. I pulled my data pad from my jacket pocket and started typing. I was about four paragraphs in when the waitress finally brought me a cup of coffee and a menu. I started to push it back when I realized just how long it had been since I'd had something to eat. I took a sip of the thick brown brew and perused the specials. I heard a couple of bikes pull in, but paid them no attention. I looked up from the menu ready to order, but my waitress has already moved on. After a quick glance around the diner I saw her sitting on the lap of one of the guys that had just come in. It didn't take an Optijack to see she was being held against her will, but this wasn't my neighborhood so I stayed put. I had seen first hand what happens to cops who try something when they were out of town. I finished the last sentence on my report and tapped the submit icon.

Still, I couldn't shake the desire to 'Serve and Protect'. I don't know if it was my sense of duty, or the fact that it pissed me off seeing those two together with me going home alone that spurred it on, but I got to my feet. Cup in hand I strolled over to the booth the bikers and my hijacked waitress occupied.

"Excuse me, I've been waiting a while for a refill" I said with mock impatience. "Piss off, dickmeat!" was all I got in

reply. 'What am I doing, this isn't my problem. Just go pay for the coffee, get in your car, and go home'. I started to turn away to do just that, but my eyes caught hers. I could see she knew what was awaiting her, a night of beatings, rape, and all manner of horrid things. And somehow she knew I could stop it all.

My right hand was at his throat before either of us knew what I was doing. I tossed the girl into the walkway in the same motion. Once she was out of the way I focused all my attention on getting rid of these punk-asses without meeting the local law. As his friends got to their feet the knife in my left hand pressed up against my trapped quarry's genitals. His eyes became saucers and he waved his groupies back down. "This is what you're going to do. You're going to get up, pay for my coffee and meal, tip the waitress well, get on your bikes and go as far from here as those tiny little gas tanks can get you." I twisted the knife a bit. "either that, or I'll pay my own bill, and leave her your manhood as a tip; And I hate to be a light tipper." After a brief spat of snickers from his underlings, the head thug agreed to my terms, and was out the door before I had my knife back in its sheath. I sat back down and ordered the biggest breakfast the place offered.


End file.
